In Grimmauld Place
by CeliaEquus
Summary: Grimmauld Place becomes a haven for Hermione when she leaves a cheating Ron. Harry doesn't mind having her as a housemate at all. Usual disclaimers apply, naturally!
1. A Midnight Visit

"A Midnight Visit"

Harry Potter woke up when he heard the floo activate downstairs. Even three years after the war, his senses were still sharper than the average person, thanks to a spell Hermione had cast on him.

Well, _one_ of the spells she had cast over him. But since she was with Ron…

These thoughts ran through his mind as he crept down the stairs. It was a pity he had reason to be so alert only seconds after waking, but there were still a few Death Eaters secreted away somewhere, no doubt by Lucius Malfoy, or somebody else who'd managed to escape Azkaban through their wealth.

"Harry?"

It was her!

"Hermione?" he asked, jumping down the last few steps and hurrying into the living room. Her face was blotchy and red, and she was carrying a small suitcase, no doubt with an enlarging charm on the inside. "What're you doing here?"

"He… I left Ron," she said, whispering in the still of the night. "Can I stay here for awhile? Please? I just… I need somewhere…"

"Of course! Uh, of course. Just use your old room, if you like. Unless…"

"It reminds me too much of him."

"…Yes. But being here would remind you of him, anyway, wouldn't it?"

"I suppose so. But I don't want to go home to Mum and Dad. I mean, if you don't want me here…"

"I do, Hermione. Really." He took her suitcase in one hand, her left arm in the other. "C'mon. Let's find a room for you."

"I'm sorry it's so late. I was supposed to be away for work, but the conference had to finish early because there was a fire, and we didn't get away until ten to midnight. So I went home, and found Ron with…" She sniffed, and hiccoughed. "P-pansy Parkinson! In our _house_, Harry. I mean, it's not that she's a Slytherin. I used to have a crush on Professor Snape. Come to that, I had a crush on Sirius, too. I should have known that it wouldn't work out with someone with red hair. I must have a thing for _black_ hair." She laughed hollowly, not noticing the hopeful look on her best friend's face. "Anyway." She smiled at Harry. "Thanks for looking after me."

"I'll always be here for you, `Mione. I promise."

"Thanks." She leaned her head on his shoulder briefly, before straightening up again.

"Just let me know if you want me to hex Ron."

She laughed properly now. "Oh, I already hexed him. Both of them. Everyone will know what they've done by the morning. But, just in case the other Weasleys gang up on me… will you _stay_ on my side?"

He looked at her, and nodded. "Always."

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This story is for Aunty Von, who always thought that Harry and Hermione would end up together. My third attempt at the Five Chapter Challenge, which has just been firing up my imagination. My first two are:

"**The Professor and the Apprentice"**

"**Dark and Light"**

**Please review!**


	2. Twilight by the Light

"Twilight by the Light"

The wizarding world was on Hermione's side—well, most of it. The parts that mattered, including the Weasleys (minus Ron) and _The Daily Prophet_, believed her.

Most of all, Harry believed her.

"What's up, Hermione?" he asked one evening, walking into the library. She looked around from the easel.

"Oh! Hello, Harry," she said. "I'm painting."

"I can see that. Why?"

"It's…" She blushed, and played with the paint on the palette absent-mindedly. "It's a hobby of mine. Ron hated the smell, so I had to move everything upstairs eventually." Harry scowled at the mention of Hermione's ex-boyfriend. "Do you mind me using this room? Only it's got the best view of the night sky, and I want to work on drawing that. And in the attic, I couldn't really do that. It's something I was trying to master…"

"You don't have to ask, Hermione. This is your house, too."

"Not really, Harry. It's kind of you to let me stay here. Are you _sure_ I can't pay you…"

"No, I insist. I was the one who pushed you towards Ron, after all." Yes, to try and get over her, he thought. And it's not like they were going to do anything themselves, even though they obviously liked each other.

"I just can't get this right!" she exclaimed, throwing down her paintbrush Fortunately, she'd had the foresight to put down old newspaper, even though it would be easy enough to clean up any spilt paint with magic. "Why can't I paint a dark sky with stars? I can paint daytime easily enough. But night-time… just stumps me."

Harry thought. "Put those things down."

"What…"

"Just do it, `Mione. And then come with me."

Obediently, Hermione put down her things, and put a Stasis Charm on the paints and brushes so that they wouldn't dry out. Harry led her out of the room, downstairs, out of the house, and across to the park opposite Grimmauld Place. Once they were in the middle of the park, he pointed up.

"I could see the sky perfectly well from the library, Harry. What're we doing here?"

"You're distracted by your surroundings there. Now, look only at the sky." He stood behind her, and placed his hands like blinkers around the side of her face. "Can you see any trees or anything?"

"No."

"Good."

He made sure that they stayed there for several minutes.

"Harry?"

"Yes, `Mione?"

"My neck's getting sore."

"Close your eyes."

"…What?"

"Hermione, close your eyes, and keep the picture of the sky in your head." He kept one hand over her eyes, and led her back to Number Twelve with the other. After they tried to negotiate the stairs, Harry just swept her up into his arms, his heart speeding up as she clutched his shoulders, laughing.

When they got back to the library, he placed her on the chair, handed over her painting materials, and conjured a big black curtain to surround them. He paused, and then kissed the top of Hermione's head. He pretended that she really had gasped, and that it wasn't just his imagination.

"Good luck," he whispered, patting her shoulder. She heard a rustle of material, and frowned. "You can open your eyes now." His voice was muffled, and she wrenched open her eyes, to be almost enveloped in black. Then she realised what had happened, and she smiled. "Paint what you saw outside, `Mione. Go on."

"Thank you, Harry," she whispered. She dimmed the lights a bit, and began to paint.

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I hope you weren't hoping for/expecting some reference to Stephanie Meyer's books; but I just couldn't do that. So you got Artist Hermione.

**Please review anyway, my dears!**


	3. Bamboo

"Bamboo"

"Uh… I was only joking, Harry."

"But I kind of like it. It grows on you, you know." He grinned at her, and winked. She rolled her eyes at the pun.

"Very funny. Still, I would have thought that you'd think before doing… well, _this_."

"Actually, it was the hired herbologists who did the work. I just approved your concept, and paid them to put it all together."

She groaned. "When you asked me to come up with a garden design, I didn't think that you were serious. And… well, your specifications…"

"Privacy essential, shade unnecessary, exoticism preferable. I was especially proud of using the word 'exoticism'," Harry said. "Thought you'd like it."

"Bamboo is certainly exotic. It must have been awfully expensive."

"Hey, I liked the drawing. And look—there's privacy," he said, pointing out the close-set sticks of bamboo eight feet tall, "there's not too much shade, so that we can take advantage of the rare English sun," and you can sunbake in minimum clothing, he thought, "and it's exotic, isn't it?"

She laughed. "You're right, of course. I just didn't expect you to do it. And what's with needing so much privacy? It's not much of a garden anyway, and the Muggles can't see this place anyway."

"Reporters?" She looked disbelieving. "Okay, okay! Well, for one thing, it was something for you to do. Don't give me that look, `Mione. You're the one who said that you wanted to contribute to the household in some way. Consider it payment… of some sort." He frowned, tilted his head, but then cleared his expression. "Also, it'll make the place seem more personal to you, won't it? Do you feel more at home now?"

I already do, she thought, looking up at him from the bench he had had installed in the tiny backyard of Number Twelve. Oh, why did I have to fall for you now? After all this time, too. We could have been together. We could have been… married by now.

She looked down at her clasped hands. "What was your other reason?"

"Aunt Petunia liked to look over our low hedges at other people's houses, and spy on them like that." He scowled in distaste. "I felt sorry for our neighbours, and wished that they'd have tall fences built; if nothing else, to annoy her." He sat beside Hermione. "Do you hate the garden?"

"No," she said, and she took his hand in hers. "I could never hate anything here, Harry." She leaned her head on his shoulder. "Thank you for being so kind."

"Uh… you're welcome. Want to stay here to watch the twilight?" She laughed quietly. "I could call for Kreacher to bring us dinner."

"It's summer, Harry. I want to be in bed by the time it's dark. I've got work early tomorrow, after all."

"All right." He helped her stand. "So you don't hate the bamboo?"

She laughed again, and dragged him back into the house. "No. I love it here, and I adore the blasted bamboo."

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More than halfway through now. Hurrah! Perhaps I will have gained an extra lot of readership from this story? I know how popular Hermione and Harry stories are; more so than the usual pairings that I write. At least I've been assigned as homework now. *Winks*

**Please review! It really does encourage me, you know. *Nods firmly* Really, it does.**


	4. Anywhere But Here

"Anywhere But Here"

"Come on, `Mione."

"It's _Her_mione, Ronald."

"Come back to me. I've dumped her, really. You're the only girl for me."

"Ugh." It was so clichéd. "Go away, Ron. _Really_. I'm happy here."

"But I love you…"

"If that were true, you wouldn't have cheated on me with Pansy 'Pug-face' Parkinson. Now leave!"

Ron looked affronted. "This isn't your house."

"Actually," Harry said, choosing to intervene, "this _is_ her house. It's as much her house as it is mine."

"Not legally," Hermione said, looking at the floor. "But thanks, Harry." She looked at her ex-boyfriend. "I feel more at home here than anywhere else. Can't you just let me be happy?"

"No! Not unless you're happy with me!"

"But I _wouldn't_ be happy with you, Ronald. If you really did love me, you'd let me go. Yet I don't think you do love me."

"If you loved _me_," he said, looking petulant, "you'd come back."

"Leave her alone, Ron," Harry said, frowning. "You're the one in the wrong here. Everyone thinks so."

"Not everyone…"

"Everyone who counts," Hermione said, stepping back to stand beside Harry. "Do we have to hex you out the door?"

Ron glared at them, and stalked out the front door without another word. The tension left Hermione's body, and she sat on the stairs. Harry shut the door, and turned around. But she wasn't crying; she just looked relieved.

"You okay?"

"Yes," she said, looking up and smiling. "Yes, I'm fine, Harry. Of course, it helps that I'm no longer in love with Ron. I probably never was." Her smile was becoming more and more secretive, and Harry was apprehensive.

"Hermione? Who… who _are_ you in love with?"

"Who said there was anyone else?" she asked, wide-eyed. But she felt terrible when she saw his hurt expression. It cleared almost immediately; but she had seen it. She didn't want him to think that she felt uncomfortable with confiding in him, no matter how close it was to the truth. "Well, okay. You're right. There _is_ someone else now."

"Oh."

"But don't worry," she said, standing. "It's no one who could love me back." She walked past Harry, and into the kitchen, where she set about making dinner. Harry had already started preparing the ingredients when Ron came for a 'visit'. They were having homemade pizza that night, so there were a lot of vegetables which needed to be cut. The advantages of having magic were clear when it came to chopping onions. One flick of the wand, and they'd be diced, sliced, or whatever required.

"Why do you think someone couldn't love you back?" Harry asked, joining Hermione at the counter. While she worked on slicing a tomato, he tore parsley leaves. "Everyone loves you, really."

"Not in the right way. And no, they don't. You just mean that the people who are our friends love me. Their love is either in a friendly way, or a family way. Not the kind of love that I… that I feel." She wished now that she _was_ chopping onions; anything to disguise any impending tears.

"Is it one of our friends?"

"It's… someone who has already graduated from Hogwarts."

"Hermione, that's most people we know," Harry said, smiling, hiding his inner pain with practised ease. "Male?"

"Of course." She blushed.

"So… how much older than you?"

"Harry! Can we not do this guessing game? Please?"

"Why? Are you worried that I'll tell this person?"

"Well… no…"

"All right." He held up his hands in surrender. "You win." Hermione giggled, and he looked confused. "What?"

"You've gone Slytherin," she said. His expression didn't change. "Your hands. From the parsley. They've gone… well, slightly green."

He looked at them in mock horror. "Treacherous hands! I will drown you in soapy water." He ran some water into the sink, and lathered up. "Take that!" He plunged them into the water, and she continued to laugh, even after he had pulled the plug, and dried off. His theatrics cheered her up to no end, and they both forgot their original conversation.

After dinner, Harry looked over at Hermione from his seat in the library.

"Hermione? Are you sure you'd never take Ron back?"

"Why?" she asked, hurt. "Do you want me to go back to hi…"

"No! No. I just meant… are you happy? Do you regret living here with me? I mean, you can go out and meet people, you know. You don't just have to go everywhere with me."

"They're my friends, too, Harry."

"I know. I just…" He looked at his hands, which were almost red from his furious scrubbing earlier. He had done a repeat performance while washing the dishes. "I feel bad. I keep saying that this is your house, but you don't have to think of it like that. Really. Of course I want you to feel at home…"

"Harry," she said, leaning forward, "there's nowhere else I'd rather be." She sat back, smiled at him, and got lost in her book once more.

"And I wouldn't want you anywhere but here," he whispered, and he stared into the fire, never seeing Hermione looking over the top of her book at him.

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Ooh! One chapter left.

**Okay, so I've posted this in the Best Friends Falling in Love Challenge, just because I haven't gotten around to writing the story I was supposed to do for that… yet. This is a sort of in-the-meantime thing.**

**Good luck to the Hufflepuffs who have been assigned this story as homework! If you have any questions for me, I'm right… *Wiggles in seat*… here.**


	5. Tea for Two

"Tea for Two"

Sweet Circe. She was going mad. Hermione Granger was officially going mad.

Harry Potter had _not_ said those words yesterday. He had _not_ said that he wouldn't want her anywhere else but at Grimmauld Place.

No. He couldn't have said that.

"Could he?"

"What was that?"

"Oh, nothing. Nothing, Harry. Just… thinking out loud."

"I've been thinking, too," he said, putting down his copy of _The Daily Prophet_. "Charlie's visiting from Romania. We could invite him here for tea… you know, if you like. We haven't seen him in ages."

"That sounds great," Hermione said. "Did you want me to write to him?"

"No, I'll just use the floo. He's staying at the Burrow."

"Right then. Shall I go and get started on dinner?"

"Sure."

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Harry had arranged that Charlie come over for afternoon tea the next day. When he told Hermione this, he admitted something else.

"Uh… actually, it will just be the two of you."

"…What?"

"Well, I figured that until you tell whoever it is, you may as well… uh, get into the game."

"Harry, this isn't Quidditch!" She looked close to tearing her hair out. Or his. Harry took a step back.

"_Is_ it Charlie? You know, the bloke you like."

"_No_."

"Uh… well, I need to get some work done, anyway. This'll be a great opportunity for you to practise. And he's really nice. You've always liked Charlie, haven't you?"

"But not in _that_ way, Harry."

"Just go along with it. And think of it this way: it's probably been awhile since Charlie sat down for a drink or anything with a pretty young woman. Plus, I think you've been spending too much time with me. You're actually listening to the Quidditch when it's on the radio."

She smiled. "All right, Harry."

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At his suggestion, Hermione had dressed herself up a bit, wearing a knee-length skirt and a short-sleeved blouse. She also wore a necklace Harry had given her for Christmas, and pulled her hair back in a thick braid. Charlie. Yes, he was nice. And at least they could discuss his work. It had been frightening to watch Harry do battle with a dragon, but talking about them would be all right, not to mention fascinating.

Finally, half an hour after Harry had left—a not-so-subtle hint, in her opinion—the floo was activated. Out stepped a familiar-looking redhead.

"Hello, Charlie," she said, and they embraced.

"Hey, `Mione," he said, squeezing her extra hard for a moment too long. He pulled back, and ruffled her hair. "I hear we're having tea?"

"Right this way."

She had gone against Harry's advice in one way, and instead of taking tea in the library or living room, she had set it up in the kitchen. It was less intimate that way. Her companion looked amused as he sat opposite her. While she poured the tea, he started the conversation.

"You know why we're alone?" he asked. She nodded, rolling her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"No, _I'm _sorry, Charlie. I just wish Harry wouldn't get so curious about my love life, or lack thereof. It's so… frustrating!"

"Kind of like Mum. She's going mad because I'm still single."

"Molly's like that, though. With everyone. If it wasn't for the break-up with Ron…"

"And, on behalf of the rest of my family, I apologise for his actions."

"Thanks, Charlie. Anyway, I'm sure she'd be on my case, too."

"Probably."

They drank tea in silence for a bit, and then began talking about dragons. That was only for a short while. Then the conversation was turned to Hermione and her work, including her painting. He asked to see some of her works, but she said no.

"They're really not that good. Anyway, I'm sure you can see them next time."

"Next time?"

"Oh yes." She smiled, stood, and walked around the table. Leaning down, she placed a kiss on his lips, and pulled back. He looked beyond shocked. "How did you know about them, by the way? Only one other person knows." Moments later, the fireplace blazed into green life, and they looked up.

Charlie Weasley stepped into the room.

"Hello," he said, looking between them.

"Hello, Charlie," Hermione said, and she sat back in her seat. "Tea?"

"No, thanks. Just checking up to borrow that book you have for me."

"Oh, this?" She wandlessly Summoned a tome that was resting on the end of the table. "Here you are. Glad you asked for it in that owl." She glanced across at the other redhead, who still looked gobsmacked. "You know, when I wrote to confirm tea?"

"I remember," Charlie said, grinning. "See you at the Burrow for dinner? Both of you?"

"I can answer for myself; 'yes'. What about you, Harry?"

He nodded dumbly, and Charlie left with a quick good-bye, leaving the two residents of Grimmauld Place by themselves.

"Um…"

"I'm glad I had the foresight to write to Charlie. Didn't you know that it's just good etiquette to confirm things such as these? That's what I was taught."

"I s'pose. Look, `Mione…"

"It's fine, Harry. But I'd rather wait until the Polyjuice has worn off. That's a good five or ten minutes away. Perhaps we should move into the living room while we wait?"

He nodded. "Good idea."

* * *

Finally, the red was soon replaced by black, and the green eyes appeared. The frame shrank, and Harry Potter was sitting on the couch. Hermione was curled up in the armchair opposite, and she sighed in relief when it was over.

"Now, what were you planning to ask me?" she said.

"Well, you didn't want to tell me who it was, so I thought… but then you kissed me! Well, Charlie, but…"

"But I knew it was you."

"I'm sorry." He looked at the floor. "Really. I wanted to help you, that's all." She remained silent. "Uh… why did you kiss me?"

She moved over to the couch, and sat beside him. "Oh, Harry. Can't you see why? Are you really that unobservant?"

"You mean…" He looked amazed. "You can't… can you?"

"I do. I love you, Harry. I'm _in_ love with you." She stroked his cheek, and then froze. "But… do you…"

"Yes," he said, and he grinned, nodding. "Yes, I do."

With that said, he pulled her into a ferocious kiss. Making up for lost time, as it were. Hermione ended up bent at an awkward angle, not caring one whit. They were both breathing heavily by the time they broke apart, lips swollen and limbs cramping. Harry pulled her into a better position, but still in his arms.

"We should have done this sooner," she said, still panting a bit.

"I know. I'm sorry. Uh, Hermione? How long have you felt like this?"

"Oh, months now," she confessed, blushing.

"Then I beat you."

She looked at his smirking face. "What do you mean?"

He cuddled her closer, and nuzzled her hair. "I've been in love with you for years."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because of Ron."

"Well. Now that that obstacle's gone, what _will_ you do with me?"

"Well, for starters, how about marrying you?"

Her eyes lit up. "Really?"

"What, is it too soon?"

She laughed. "Are you kidding?" She threw her arms around his neck. "No, it's not too soon, Harry. Not too soon at all."

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Aw! What a fluffy ending.

**Well, here endeth my first Harry/Hermione fic, dedicated to Aunty Von. Hope you all enjoyed it, even if it was homework for some people. (Wish we had this kind of homework in my day.)**

'**My day'? How old does that make me sound?**

**I'M ONLY 21!**

…**Ehem.**

***Beams***

**Thanks for reading!**


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